


drowning on your shore

by psikeval



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Pseudo-Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 05:11:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12646773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psikeval/pseuds/psikeval
Summary: Ragnarok coda fic.Loki, entirely solid, does not flicker and does not flinch.





	drowning on your shore

 

“If you were really here, I’d hug you,” he says, soft and warm and nearly a threat, knowing Loki, knowing the prickly boundaries his brother so often insists upon. In a crisis or in a fight, Thor might lay his hands upon Loki without a second thought, but gentleness — ah. That has always been, for them, something else altogether.

Thor picks up what is nearest without thought, as he might gather crumbled bits of stone or rubble of the Grandmaster’s arena. He’s been throwing things at Loki for as long as he can remember, and rarely quite with the malice he’d like to pretend. _Look at me_ , he means sometimes, when Loki is lost to the world, unraveling threads of thoughts in labyrinthine paths that Thor has never been able to follow. _Stop lying_ , he tries to say with little projectiles puncturing Loki’s illusions, ruining the façade but never bridging what lies between them

Except that now, Loki, entirely solid, does not flicker and does not flinch.

“I am here.” The trickster, the liar, the prince who saved their people, the man who waited months for Thor to drop out of the sky—needing him safe so that he could be betrayed again when the time came—Loki speaks simply, as if Thor need never have questioned it.

It is an absurd notion. There are constants in this universe, and one is that Loki will ever be changing, capricious, his actions and priorities unpredictable. To trust him is to deny his nature, and Thor tired long ago of seeing his brother incompletely.

“Would you stay?”

For a moment, Loki’s eyes widen, as if he knows exactly the meaning Thor intends. But he looks away to the stars, wets his lips with a quick, nervous darting of his tongue. Hesitates. Always ready to believe, or to fear, that this will be the time Thor does not wear his heart proudly on his sleeve. “The future is… uncertain, of course.”

Thor’s smile should likely not be so fond. “In the room, I mean. If I hug you.”

“Ah.” Another hesitation, while Loki tugs at the ends of his sleeves. “I suppose I might.” 

Thor walks forward at an exaggeratedly measured pace, half-steps telegraphed so broadly that the movement itself is a parody, until Loki makes a face at him. Then, supposing there is nothing to lose, he bridges the space left between them and pulls Loki into his arms.

There is a surprising warmth to Loki, when one is permitted close enough to feel it. When he allows himself to be touched. A frost giant’s orphan he may have been, but Loki now is the Loki of Asgard, flesh and blood and bone for all his magic. He fits so neatly against Thor, held like this.

Thor lifts Loki’s chin with his fingertips until their eyes meet. Such a small thing, after what they’ve seen, to make Thor feel afraid. He runs the pad of his thumb over Loki’s mouth, and leans closer still when Loki only stares, stunned, breathing unsteadily.

“Will you stay,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth along Loki’s jaw, cradling the back of Loki’s neck in one hand and savoring the way the breath shakes out of him, “if I kissed you?”

Loki huffs and tries to glare, close enough for Thor to see every hungry shard of black in his dark green eyes. “If you keep on like this, I will leave if you don’t.” 

Thor laughs, delighted, and only successfully muffles himself by kissing Loki soundly.

Stranger than the deed is that they have waited so long to do it. Years of what could have been now melt away, insignificant in the face of what finally  _is_. Thor can’t stop smiling, even while trying to match his lips to Loki’s, and keeps smiling when Loki shoves him down onto the nearest couch. “Would you stop,” Loki grumbles, even as he clambers onto Thor and kisses him again, a fierce, possessive thing that settles the fire in Thor’s blood to a warm steady glow.

Rare and precious indeed, for things to be exactly as they ought to be.

Loki kisses like there’s something left to prove, like he means to win a battle and keep the spoils, and Thor is more than willing to be kept. It settles him, even as his body reacts to every shift of Loki’s weight with a new rush of arousal.

Only after some time does Loki sit up, hands braced on Thor’s chest.

“In case you’ve forgotten your line of questioning,” he says primly, sitting breathless on Thor’s lap with his hair in disarray, “I intend to stay for all of it.”

It takes Thor several moments to catch up, and longer still to believe his ears. When he speaks his voice is rough, unsteady, sounds issuing from a place inside him that feels too raw to acknowledge. He must remember to be more than the creature Loki makes of him.

“Oh. Right. Good. Good news.”

Loki rolls his eyes. “It would help immensely if you talked less.”

“Oh,” says Thor, on surer ground now, full of mock offense. “Am I not how you imagined me?”

“Brother,” Loki warns, but there is a lovely red flush blooming on his cheeks

“I’ve thought about you, you know,” he offers casually, as if Loki’s entire body doesn’t jerk in shock on top of him. “Lots of times. But you were always, you know, being all trickster-y and clever. Even when there wasn’t someone else I figured, well, surely you’d have better offers. Much as I might’ve wanted to ask you into my bed some nights, I thought—” 

“Thor,” says Loki, his voice strangled, pained.

“Mm?”

“Shut _up_.”

The easiest way to achieve this, of course, is to let a giddy, ragged laugh escape the parts of him that glow under Loki’s touch. For this Thor is scowled at, pushed deeper into the cushions and kissed again.

There are moments when the brush of Loki’s lips is unbearably careful, as if gently taking stock of what might soon disappear. There are other kisses, rough, desperate things that carve out an answering ache in Thor’s chest, a hollow hurt that can’t be healed. 

(But he wants to. He kisses Loki, over and over, and thinks so foolishly that he wants to.)

More than once, Loki’s hands move over Thor’s freshly-shorn head, seeking purchase but finding none, and Thor mourns the loss of his hair with _intensity_ even as the sensation of fingernails scratching his scalp leaves him helplessly groaning. He might have, once, had a very secret thing for the thought of Loki pulling his hair. Unfortunate, really. It’s just that it would be so very, blissfully easy to shut up, with Loki directing his mouth to more suitable tasks.

Thor is willing to make do.

He makes himself pliant, relishing the weight of Loki, solid and real; the slow, steady motions of Loki’s hips against him; the teasing flicks Loki’s tongue. But there are things he’s waited many long years to do, and Thor spends time lavishing attention on Loki’s neck because it _ruins_ him, leaves him writhing unsteadily in Thor’s lap and making this most beautiful, choked noises every time the heat of Thor’s mouth inches up or down, beard scraping over wet sensitive skin.

Thor knows, has known since Loki returned, that this cannot last. Nothing so perfect can. Loki will leave, or Loki will betray him, or Loki will leave and let Thor _think_ he has betrayed him, and this dance between them may never end. They remain each other’s fate. It’s becoming less clear, day by day, if either of them would want it any other way.

“I’m here,” he says, low in Loki’s ear, while Loki shakes as if he’ll break apart. “I’m here.”

 

 


End file.
